Time Not Passed
by niver
Summary: In which Sasori learns that there is no need to wait for someone he does not need. /Orosaso/ /oneshot/


**Time Not Passed**

_Then_

Sasori was eleven, and far too old to spend every day within his grandmother's reach. And even if maybe (just maybe) he wanted to pass the hot – but never lazy – days listening to his grandmother's ancient voice tell ancient stories and teach him ancient arts, he couldn't, because his grandmother was important and spent her days working. Sasori was old enough to look after himself, plenty old enough to be allowed to sit on a low sandy wall on the edges of Suna and watch the people come and go.

Normally it was just ninja leaving on missions, but something, someone, new walked in just as Sasori decided that perhaps he had wasted enough time on this wall, when training and thoughts about human puppetry were oh so much more important. "Twenty-seven, and you still think it's okay to think a genin-level girl is cute? Jiraiya, that is actually called pedophilia, if you weren't aware." Sasori glanced up at this, and saw three people entering through the village gates: a tall, tall, long, white-haired man with parallel red stripes down his face, a slightly shorter and slightly ambiguously gendered dark-haired male, and a much shorter blond haired woman with a rather large chest. They were laughing, joking, talking loudly, except for their quiet (assumed) team-mate with the dark hair, who only chuckled darkly.

Sasori watched the trio for a few moments, taking in their Konoha headbands (they had only recently finished fighting the other village, having signed a treaty), before he shrugged. For some reason he almost felt like he should know who they were, but right then he needed to get home, judging from the lower position of the burning hot sun in the brilliant blue sky. So he began to trot to his modest, two-floor home he shared with his grandmother Chiyo and great-uncle Ebizou. Red hair bounced around his face, and he wondered when his grandmother was going to attack it with scissors. Maybe right when he got home. That would be nice. It was getting into his eyes more often than not, and making it more difficult to see certain things, such as the door to his home and ground beneath his feet.

"Grandma. I'm home." Sasori called as he slipped into the house, enjoying the drop in temperature, if only by a few degrees. "Where are you?" He asked, and her response pinpointed her to the kitchen, and Sasori stumbled a bit over the edge of his robe trying to join her. "What are you doing?" He posed the question after saving himself from a face-plant, and saw that the kitchen was a mess of disgusting food combinations and spilled ingredients. His grandmother stood in the middle of it all, a filthy and burned apron on and looked quite abashed at her predicament.

"Well . . . you and I both know I can't cook, dear. Ebizou does all the chef-work. But he's with the Kazekage right now, helping to meet some very important guests, so I was left behind to prepare dinner for when they come here to taste some authentic Suna cooking." Chiyo laughed ruefully, scratching her head absently. "It appears they'll only be getting a mess . . . and I haven't even finished cleaning the house and setting the table, and I think they'll be here soon . . ."

"Grandma, who --" Sasori cut off, not needing to finish his question when his grandmother replied, "the Sannin, dear" and his eyes widened significantly. No wonder those three had looked so familiar! The Sannin! It was a title they had taken only recently, making them instantly recognizable, even more so than usual. Sasori could not think of any child who had not seen, or owned, one of the painted scrolls of the famous Konoha nin who had conquered countries on the backs of their summons. And they would be eating at his dinner table?! This required some calming down, and clear thinking. "Grandma, why don't you clean up, while I make dinner. I guess you'll keep them busy for an hour after they get here, right? Dinner and dessert can be ready by then."

"Really, Sasori? You know just how to make a grandmother happy." Chiyo paused to ruffle his hair affectionately. "Goodness, that really does need to get trimmed . . . and yes, we'll keep them occupied." The elderly nin glanced around the messy kitchen and gave a low sigh. "I'm sorry to leave you with such a mess . . ."

"Just leave, grandma. It's fine, okay?" Sasori gave a small smile up at his grandmother, who smiled in reply before removing her apron and exiting the kitchen, leaving Sasori to deal with the mess. "Okay, time to get down to business." Sasori was used to helping out his great-uncle, but this would be the first time he'd done it own his own. This would be a great opportunity to prove the maturity being thrust upon him.

So, without a hint of hesitation, eyes only showing pure determination, Sasori pulled his child-sized apron off its peg before slipping the garment on and rolling up the sleeves for his robe. "Now this," he paused, before continuing, "will be a challenge."

The cleaning came first, the disposing of dishes and wiping up messes. One of Ebizou's rules of the kitchen was that always start off with a clean workspace, or your food would be contaminated. Sasori took this to heart, and only as he had just finished cleaning up all of Chiyo's mess and start to pull out the ingredients he would need did he hear the door swing open. His great-uncle's voice called out a, "we're here, sister," and the tiny red head had to resist the urge to abandon his post to go see their guests. He had a duty, and besides, he'd see them over dinner.

As Sasori listened to the conversation passing in the rest of the house, he began to cook, smiling a tad when he heard quite the familiar voice: the Kazekage-sama. As the minutes passed, it slowly became easier to know what was passing in the sitting room and to make sure that he was measuring correct amounts and setting correct times. Although the harmony of voices wove in the air, becoming quite the mess, Sasori had been able to pick apart who said what. His grandmother, the kind, sharp-witted old woman, his great-uncle, dry, ancient and rather melancholic. He could identify the Kazekage, who's voice spoke of intelligence, diplomacy and easy grins. Then there were the Konoha nin: the loud voiced male who was a little blurry on good manners was Jiraiya. The sometimes just as loud but normally calm voiced female, Tsunade. And of course, the methodical, slightly sinister tone of a one Orochimaru.

Their conversation was interesting enough, covering a couple of topics, and soon Sasori had lost track of the time. Next thing he knew, all that needed to be cooked was in or on the oven, and he had nothing left to do but wait for forty five minutes or so. So, with a tad of a happy twinkle, he yanked off his apron, returned it to its peg, and wandered into the sitting room with his permanently bored expression set.

In an eerie bout of synchronism, everyone in the room swung their heads in order to gaze at him as he walked in. There was silence, until, "Sasori-chan! I was wondering where you were," was heard. Sasori nodded at the Kazekage, maneuvering to take the seat next to his (never admitted) hero. From this vantage point he could see everyone quite well, but none so much as Orochimaru, who sat straight across from the young boy.

"This is my grandson, Sasori." Chiyo commented with a wave of her hand, and was greeted with one "nice to meet you, shortie" and a "hello – Jiraiya, be polite!". Orochimaru waited until his team-mates had calmed down before talking, his voice quietly slithering over a simple, but disturbingly strange, "Sasori-kun."

The conversation picked itself back up after this, and the redhead didn't feel a particular need to participate; he only sat there and watched the clock to make sure the dinner would not burn. However, the redhead could never shake the feeling that no matter who Orochimaru was talking to, the long-haired man was always watching him. At first, it had been a bit of paranoia, the prickle of eyes on his skin, but when Sasori finally worked up the nerve to do so, he caught the elder staring calmly at him. And even though he had clearly been caught staring for no reason, Orochimaru only returned Sasori's accusing stare with steady eyes and a slight smirk.

Just as Sasori was beginning to get thoroughly bothered by the strange Sannin, and was considering politely accusing himself, did that conversation turn to something interesting: the puppetry division of Suna.

". . . and Sasori here, I'm teaching him all I know, he's quite talented . . ." Chiyo said this with a proud little smile, as she reached from her position next to Sasori in order to pat him endearingly on the head. Sasori beamed at this, happy at the acknowledgment from his talented grandmother.

"Puppets? At such a young age?" Asked Orochimaru, startling Sasori; the man had stopped looking at him in order to face Chiyo. The said elderly woman raised an eyebrow dryly, examining Orochimaru like one would a child who had said something rather ridiculous.

"Puppetry does require some excellent chakra control, but there's no reason for why someone as young as when Sasori first started couldn't do it."

"Well, Chiyo-sama, I am just pondering the rather dark side of puppetry . . . are the rumors true, that Suna has been investigating some near-forbidden techniques when it applies to puppets?" Orochimaru was treading on thin ice, but if he cared he did not show it. There was some sort of sick curiosity in his amber eyes.

"Hardly, and don't be impudent. As it were, you do not see me inquiring about Konoha giving up prisoners of war as test subjects for jutsu that are quite forbidden."

"There's nothing to inquire about, Chiyo-sama. The darkest Konoha gets in human testing is jutsu which _improve_ life, contrary to causing pain and death."

"Such as?" Chiyo was miffed, and both the Kazekage and her brother were watching the exchange warily. Tsunade and Jiraiya were eying their team-mate uneasily, as if worried he would say something that could spark another war between Suna and Konoha.

"Living longer, Chiyo-sama, as an example. Or, put simply, immortality. In a world with no death, ninja will be made obsolete in the idea of battlefields, certainly, but we would never have to lose those dear to us." Sasori's eyes widened at these words, and he began focusing so intensely on the pale man that he didn't notice his great-uncle watching him with an inscrutable expression.

"Immortality? Hmph. I don't think that would be as good a one might think, Orochim-"

"I don't know, grandma." Everyone turned to look at him, exactly reminiscent of his entrance to the room in the first place. "Can you imagine, living forever, never aging, having a lot of time to do everything you want? It would be like taking the idea of indestructible beauty in puppetry, and applying it to human beings."

Silence followed his words, and Sasori decided he was had been crazy to find Orochimaru's attention on him uncomfortable several minutes ago: now his gaze was so intense Sasori felt extreme difficulty in pulling air into his lungs. As the awkward moment of no breathing passed, Sasori stood up, half-lidded eyes staring at the clock determinedly. "Dinner should be ready."

No one said anything for a few seconds, until Jiraiya clapped his hands together loudly and grinned. "Fantastic. I'm starving for some Suna home cookin." There were murmurs of consent from the other two Konoha nin, and everyone began to migrate to the dining room. Sasori excused himself to the kitchen in order to remove the food from the oven and carry it to the dining room. It only took one trip, as his grandmother and his great-uncle joined him just as he had given a piteous stare at all the food which needed to be lugged to the dining table.

Dinner was uneventful, except for the praise Sasori received when it was revealed he had made everything on his own. Also there was the matter that a certain pair of golden eyes never left him, but Sasori had decided to brush it off as Orochimaru simply attempting to disturb the younger male. Really, what else was he supposed to think?

Dessert was even more uneventful, and it then came time to say goodbye. Sasori hung back as he watched the Sannin exit single file, not wishing to be forced to politely say goodbye to the snake Sannin by shaking his hand.

The door closed, and it would be over ten years before Sasori would see the pale, always observing Orochimaru again.

_Now_

Sasori was twenty-four, and far too old to spend every day within a partner's reach. He wasn't the teenager he'd been when he'd joined the Akatsuki. Back then he'd been forced to work with some bumbling moron, ten years his senior. After the man's idiocy had caused the failure of an easy mission, Sasori had lost his temper and killed the man. Killing, he reflected, had become so much easier after he killed the nin who tried to stop him from leaving Suna. And of course, there was the Kazekage . . .

And now he had to get a new partner, so many years later. Their leader had dryly responded to Sasori's questioning of what had taken so long with the simple retort of "S-Class missing nin just don't drop out of the sky into our arms, whatever you may think". In private, Sasori had muttered not only a protest to Kakuzu getting new partners every time he lost his temper (which was at least once a year or two) but to the fact that his former partner was more of a _D-Class _nin. And to top off Sasori's current aggravation with the leader, the man had not even told him who was going to be working with Sasori.

So he now sat here, waiting for someone who would probably just mess up, in some small town that thought he was some sort of hideous statue. Really, it would have been so much simpler to walk around without Hiruko, but how did one do that when you looked a small fifteen, or a slightly big thirteen, and you were constantly being asked why a 'young thing like you' were traveling without his parents. No, they wouldn't believe he was a ninja, where was his headband? Well, he had it, it was just scratched and even they would know he was missing nin.

And then screams of pain and fear tore his mental tirade. Surprised, he jerked Hiruko's head up so he could see through the eye holes, which caused cries of surprise around him. Ignoring the little brats that ran away, he zeroed in what was happening further down main street. There was blood, lots of it. There was what appeared to be a lung drifting in the pool of the red liquid, but the rest of the organs had been torn to shreds, along with the bodies. It was such carnage that Sasori couldn't he even see how many people had been involved, only that it must have been quite a few. The remaining people who were alive pressed against the walls of nearby shops, screaming and panicking and clearly half-out of their minds with the need to flee. They were too frozen from shock to move, and Sasori could see why. Not only had a most likely senseless (shinobi-created?) slaughter occur, but the person responsible didn't even seem to be bothered. They were just wandering down the main street in a violet kimono tied in with a feminine-heighted obi, dark hair spilling around their pale face as they casually licked the blood from their fingers.

If Sasori had a stomach, it would have turned. He had seen some very bad things in his life. He had _done_ some very bad things in his life. He had done these things with an air of nonchalance, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Yet all those things had been means to an end, missions or creating an army of puppets. This person had killed for what appeared no reason, had _enjoyed_ it and was now walking away from it like it was nothing, as if the idea of consequences meant nothing to them. And they had done it with their _hands_ – that was a sign of strength.

Or a monster.

The monster was headed his way, curved hips shifting lazily under expensive material. Sasori was then struck by how androgynous this person was, and how familiar they looked. Just before he could see the person's face as they reached the park where Sasori sat (as assigned), they glanced around. Searching for somebody? Sasori was working off pure guesswork . . . and then a thought struck him. Perhaps this was his new partner. Strong and dangerous . . . that was exactly the profile the leader sought in the shinobi who worked for him. Why weren't they approaching Sasori then? His Akatsuki cloak was on full display. Then again, the person was looking for somebody, so maybe they were expecting something different.

Either way, he should approach them. "Did Leader-sama send you?" Sasori asked, voice contorted by Hiruko. The person turned around, and when Sasori looked into that face he knew that the person was male, if only because he knew the face: Orochimaru. With a noise of surprise, Sasori fell back in his puppet, which created a thumping noise. Orochimaru blinked in surprise, puzzlement spreading across his face.

"Yes. But I was told that Sasori-kun would be my new partner, not _you_, whoever you are." Sasori snorted a tad. If it weren't for those eerie golden eyes, the purple eye-makeup and the white white skin, he wouldn't believe this was Orochimaru. Maybe the man was just shy around company, but he was so much different than Sasori recalled. He was acting like a disappointed child, and his raised eyebrow, fist-on-hip pose was quite flamboyant.

"I am Sasori. " The red-head didn't particularly desire to reveal his true form underneath Hiruko, so he left it at that. He leaned forward in said puppet, smirking at the pout that had flashed across Orochimaru's face.

"You don't look like Sasori-kun. I met him once, you know." Apparently the older man wasn't about to let the matter lie, as he bounced back on the balls of his feet, his wooden sandals flexing with the movement. Sasori watched the tendons on Orochimaru's ankles flex, as he retrieved that dusty memory. However, he found it wasn't that dusty, because the moment he saw the snake Sannin that evening unearthed itself from where it had been resting for thirteen years.

"I know. You argued with my grandmother and couldn't stop staring." Sasori also remembered those details which had seemed unimportant then, such as how little Orochimaru appeared to listen to his team-mates – and here he was, village abandoned, aiming to join an S-class organization. He was dangerous, possibly insane (as so many missing nin appeared to be – even Sasori was unsure sometimes) and was definitely not consorting with Konoha nin. One just had to look down the road to see a sight no leaf nin would ever paint.

This, of course, reminded Sasori of the carnage down the road. As Orochimaru stared at him, clearly swayed to believe but not wanting to, Sasori changed the subject. "What happened there? You know, the Akatsuki is supposed to be covert." Orochimaru only laughed, tossing back his head. Sasori found himself staring. He had only now realized, but it was over a decade since he'd last seen this man, and he had barely aged. Yet again, all Konoha nin appeared to grow into their older years gracefully (something in the air?) and that could explain why the Snake Sannin before him was so beautiful with youth.

"Some men were attempting to, ah, 'show me a good time'. I was struck silent by their sheer idiocy and corniness, and would have continued on my way if one of them hadn't tried to grab me." And then Orochimaru gave a short sigh, flapping his hand idly as if to convey 'it couldn't be helped'.

Sasori only shook his head with a wry smile, while Hiruko continued to frown. Using one of Hiruko's clawed hands, he reached inside his own cloak to a secret compartment, which he flicked open and pulled out a fresh-pressed cloak. "You left a big mess . . . here's your cloak." He tossed it to Orochimaru, who shook it open with an appraising glance before letting it slide on, settling across his shoulders.

"Very nice. Well then, my darling Sasori-kun, I believe we have a lot of catching up to do." Orochimaru smirked, and Sasori saw in that twisted smile that Orochimaru had no intention in allowing Sasori to simply spend their entire partnership without explaining why he looked as if he had woken up on the terrible side of the bed that morning. Sasori only shook his real head, while Hiruko's jerked to the road out of town.

"No, we don't. I'm not your friend, I'm your partner." As Sasori began to move at his normal pace down the road, he had to wonder why he had felt so defensive as he spoke these words. Was he that afraid of getting close to the older man? And as he searched himself for the answer to this question, he realized that yes, he was afraid. Afraid of what he'd be shown, afraid that maybe this would be that one person who would somehow make Sasori tear down those walls and make him feel . . . something. Yet really, what was he thinking? What made Orochimaru so different? Nothing . . . nothing except for the fact that he _was_. It was something Sasori couldn't explain. So, with determination, he pushed it to the back of his mind and focused on his Akatsuki duties instead.

The next few weeks were marked by the pair being acquainted with each other, and then two months later their first mission. It was a small-time assassination, of some out-of-luck poor man. They did not question their leader's wisdom on such things, instead performing the task with chilling efficiency. After the corpse had been disposed of as the leader directed, they settled into a hotel room two towns away. Orochimaru had simpered at length to the woman at the desk about how Sasori (in Hiruko) was his ailing grandfather that he was being forced to look after on a large family debt, and they eventually won the hotel room free.

Settled in, Sasori stepped out of Hiruko and proceeded to perform maintenance on the shell of a puppet, once he was sure that Orochimaru was napping on the bed. Sasori glanced over at the man, and was greeted with the sight of his sleeping face. The red-head could only smirk, for that was what he had left behind: the need to sleep, to eat, to breathe and so many other mortal ties that prevented a person from breaking free of their simple surroundings and transcending it all. Sasori had done that, created an independence unto himself that not even the excessively powerful Orochimaru could match.

Still, this meant he couldn't dream either; the closest he got was the meditative state to relax his mind and ward off insanity from constant activity and information input. He had to wonder what Orochimaru was dreaming of, if he did at all. Watching the slack face as the short breaths puffed against the blanket, Sasori had to decide he probably didn't. Orochimaru was not the type of man to allow himself a moment of weakness, not even in his subconscious mind.

It occurred then to Sasori then that he was staring quite openly when work had to be done. So with a final glance to the taller man, he unfastened his own cloak and allowed it to settle on the ground, and proceeded to give a check up on himself. Everything appeared to be in working order so far, and as he moved down to his toes he discovered that he could flex the wooden digits without any ominous creaking noises. Examination done, he sat back with a sigh, now left with nothing to do. He should go back in Hiruko, as Orochimaru had yet to be told why Sasori looked so hideous, but he couldn't bring himself to force himself back in that tiny space so quickly while Orochimaru was safely asleep.

"Beautiful craftsmanship. You are quite the artist, darling Sasori-kun." Although Sasori would never admit it to anyone else, the sound of Orochimaru's voice when he thought the other in deep slumber shocked him into giving a startled jump. He craned a neck over his shoulder, which simply sent his head into a complete one-eighty. Head facing backwards, he glared at Orochimaru.

"I thought you were asleep." Sasori wasn't even angry at the other man, for he was more annoyed at himself for allowing his guard down in such an amateur fashion. It was as if he trusted Orochimaru that deeply or something of a similar effect. And he didn't, for as much as he enjoyed Orochimaru's company and his professionalism, that didn't mean he held the older man in deep confidence.

"I was, but it was only a nap. I awoke in time to be greeted with this beautiful body of yours. Quite a change from that body other there, which I half-guessed to be a puppet. Ingenious, really. You are, I mean." Orochimaru had sat up, patting his hair down with an almost absent-minded gesture. That was wrong, however, for nothing Orochimaru did was absent-minded. Every move was quietly calculated, as if the pale man thought himself an actor pleasing an audience at all times.

Sasori, attention broken from those elegant-fingered hands as they settled into Orochimaru's lap, thought over what the elder had said. He frowned, tugging a lock of his red hair. "I find that hard to believe. I might find puppets beautiful in their own way, but no normal being would think that." Truthfully, Sasori had never given much thought to the appearance of his body now, but he had to admit that it was nothing one would drool over. He looked more like a weapon than anything. (He realized, with all that attention on his body, that it was still facing the wrong way. He hastily spun around so that he was kneeling in front of the bed.)

"That is wrong, Sasori-kun. Your puppets, they are an everlasting example of artistry to be envied and beheld. And you yourself are the exquisite masterpiece of the gallery." Orochimaru cut this off in order to reach over and stroke gently callused fingers over the area of Sasori's heart container. "Beautiful."

Sasori leaned forward, a hand coming up in order to grab Orochimaru's own. "Art? I've never really thought of it that way. You flatter me." He felt that he should be smirking, but it was quite difficult when Orochimaru was leaning forward, surveying Sasori with those golden eyes. It made Sasori feel like he was eleven again, sitting in his grandmother's living-room and dwarfed by the surroundings and the people. Tiny. Insignificant. Unnoticed. However, he wasn't unnoticed under those eyes . . . under those eyes, he meant so much.

"I do, do I? But yes, it is an art. An eternal one, which expresses a human desire to last forever, whether in memory or in actual presence . . . Sasori-kun, do you recall our first meeting? At first I watched you, the cute child of those two Suna puppeteers who were killed by Sakumo way back during the war. And then you spoke those words, of 'indestructible beauty', and I believed that I had found my soul mate, if such a thing existed. To this day, I must say I'm still quite smitten." Orochimaru took advantage of Sasori's stunned silence which followed in order to weave his fingers together with the red-head's, head moving downwards until his own pale forehead met Sasori's.

Sasori could not believe this. This man remembered all that? Sasori remembering was one thing: he was so much younger. For Orochimaru though, who had so much past to recall . . . and what did Orochimaru mean, 'smitten' with him? And why was his face that close? Sasori glanced up, brown eyes meeting Orochimaru's amber ones with a stare that was quite shuttered. What was this man playing at? He glanced down in confusion, as if the bed would offer answers.

And then he saw, rather than felt, their joined hands pressing against his heart container, and when he looked back up again the elder struck with surprising speed. If his closeness were any indication, and the angle of Orochimaru's head as he pressed even closer, they were kissing. To Sasori, it was quite strange. This was his first kiss, and he was in his mid-twenties and couldn't feel a thing. For whatever reason, however, Sasori allowed his eyelids to weigh themselves down until he saw half darkness, half Orochimaru, and wrapped his hand that wasn't captured around the man's neck.

The kiss didn't last long, and when Orochimaru pulled back he was smirking, hand freeing itself from Sasori's in order to ruffle the younger man's hair. "Ahh, Sasori-kun. The liberation a simple kiss brings." The former Suna nin did not ask what Orochimaru meant, only fell forward at a measured pace in order to lie his head down in the older man's lap.

They remained like this for a while, Orochimaru unusually silent and Sasori unusually peaceful. At some point, with Orochimaru arm movements suggesting he was petting Sasori, and the steady rhythm of the man's heart's thumping sounding throughout his body, Sasori's mind disconnected. He settled into a distant, meditative state. Although he wasn't all there to see it, Orochimaru eventually stopped his hair-petting in order to pull a pillow over and curl up in what might have been an uncomfortable position, falling asleep.

Orochimaru asleep, Sasori curled up and half in his lap. That was the way they would be found the next morning, Orochimaru snapping Sasori out of his zoned-out state. And then the next morning, and the next, as it quickly became the norm for nights not spent carrying out Akatsuki tasks or traveling. And although they never quite called it that, they were in a relationship, though Sasori would rather tell his grandmother "I love you" than say the same to Orochimaru, or even call the other man a boyfriend. And Sasori wasn't quite sure if he _did_ love the man, for it didn't seem right that he would forgo a life of rather emotionless human puppetry in order to share something as deep as love with another person. He had something with Orochimaru, something he tried not to dwell on, and this was good enough for Sasori – who had realized with a jolt that he had been lonely for a very long time.

All the same, they were there each possible morning leading up to even a trio of years later – years that Sasori privately felt to be his best after leaving Suna. Yet of course, they say all good things must come to an end, something Sasori reminded himself on that day. That was when everything fell apart, exactly three years, four months and two and a half weeks later from sitting in that free hotel room sharing a kiss. (But who was counting?) On that day, Orochimaru had approached Uchiha Itachi with plans to make the young boy his next vessel, and Itachi rejected the idea so soundly, and humiliated Orochimaru so thoroughly, that the next morning Sasori snapped out of his meditative daze near noon, alone.

Perhaps it was better that way, since the Akatsuki and plans with human puppetry were oh so much more important than sitting on a low sandy wall, waiting for someone to come that he never really needed.

_-This was then, this is now, all that is time not passed-_

**.the end.**

_**A/n: **__**Eleven pages of SHEER JOY. Same as my Narusasu oneshot, actually. Wasn't Sasori precious in this? And Orochimaru was just giggly psychopathic, my favourite way to write him. Hope you enjoyed. EDITED!  
**_


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